


More Than Books

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Anal Sex, Dub-con/Non-con, Established Relationship, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: Peter investigates a haunted library.





	

The calls had come in over the span of a week but we'd been busy with other things and it wasn't till Nightingale was going through his notebook, where he tended to scribble details of Falcon cases that could wait, that he remembered anything about it. Naturally, I was the one who actually went.

Once upon a time the building had been a decent red bricked Georgian library until the sixties when the council had added unnecessary glass panelling and a revolving door only to then close it all together in the seventies. Now it seemed that the only people who used it were squatters and the only residents the ghosts.

We'd had reports of sightings and that the ghosts had been touching people, a stroke along a cheek here, cupping a breast there. Hands firm enough to be real but faint enough to look translucent. Nightingale and I had discussed it and agreed that I would head out and see if this was a real haunting or some very active imaginations.

It didn't take me long, the length of the front door to the old checking out desk, before a cold finger was trailed down my cheek. I stopped, looked about, but there was only a sense that the room was occupied, no actual presence visible.

I took a deep breath and carried on through the double set of glass doors towards what had been the reference section; this was where all our informants had been adamant most of the ghosts were.

It was a curious set-up. Empty bookshelves had been pushed to form a semi-circle around the room, blocking out most but not all the natural light streaming in through the windows. Chairs were positioned just in front of the bookcases, facing a sturdy looking rectangular table that was the centrepiece of the room; it reminded me of an amphitheatre.

I walked towards the table to get a better look, maybe see what I could sense, when a hand smacked me in the middle of my back and I fell forward, my chest hitting the desk and knocking the breath from me. I tried to move back but the hand stayed where it was, unnaturally strong, and kept me pressed into the table. I awkwardly adjusted my fingers to make a werelight, or maybe a fireball, when one cold ghostly hand grabbed my left arm and pulled it to splay across the table and another hand grabbed my right arm and did the same, so I was spread out on part of the table. I was trying too hard to focus on breathing to focus on my magic.

The hand pushing me down was joined by another that trailed fingers down my spine and then suddenly my legs were kicked apart. I gasped and failed to say anything as the hand on my spine continued down to reach around me to undo my belt and pull my trousers and boxers down around my ankles.

I struggled a little but there was no way I could get the hands to release me and when I looked up each of the seats around the room was now filled with a ghostly figure, staring at me.

I felt the hot flush of embarrassment all over my body, the room air doing nothing to cool my heated flesh, just as the ghost behind pressed a finger into me. It was cold, but slick, so I had a second to thank god that they knew about lube, when a second finger joined the first.

I wasn't completely inexperienced and I wondered, as the fingers of those holding me down by my arms twitched in delight, exactly how many people they'd taken on this table when the ghost behind me decided I'd had enough preparation and pushed its cock inside me, hot and heavy and cold at the same time, pushing past the meagre resistance my body was able to give until he seated himself fully inside me.

The table was digging into my chest, the fingers into my arms, one hand still pressing me down and I wasn't ready, wasn't prepared for the shock as he started to move, fast and then faster, slapping into my flesh so hard I knew I'd bruise, taking what he wanted so quickly I figured it must have been a while because he was coming with a low groan and I could swear I felt semen dripping down my legs, but that surely must have been my imagination.

He pulled out roughly, removing the hand from my back and I tried to shift to give my ribs at least some relief, only someone else was there to take his place. This ghost took his time, slowly pressing himself into me. He was thicker, stretching me almost to the limits of too much, and I was so hard by now, unable to stop myself from pressing back a little.

The ghost clearly liked that because once it was balls deep it moved its hand along my cock and ran a thumb over the slit and I did groan then, and pushed myself forwards a little and then back into his hand. Cold wet kisses and then the graze of teeth against my ear and neck and I was almost sobbing with need as it started to move, fucking me so hard the table started to rock and screech across the marble floor.

The ghost shifted its position, its hand on my cock barely doing more than hold it as he started to graze my prostate, fucking and pushing into me until all I could do was let it wash over me as it took and took and I could nothing to stop it.

When I looked up all the ghosts in their seats were eagerly sitting forward, the smell of sex in the air strong enough to taste, and there was Nightingale, standing and watching me, face flushed as the ghost fucked me harder and I started to come, my whole body arching and spasming, my fingers scratching for purchase on the table as my orgasm flowed through me like a tidal wave.

And yet the ghost kept on fucking me, long past the point when it had been painful, long past the point where I had tried to scrabble away from the constant thrusting until finally it was coming inside me.

It pulled away and the hands released me and I dropped to the floor, panting and shaking.

“Peter? Peter, are you all right?”

Nightingale hurried forward and touched my arm and I moved forward and kissed him, practically sat in his lap on the floor, not caring what I looked like or what a mess I was making. Nightingale gently kissed me back and then pulled me close, and I buried my head into his neck, still aware of all the eyes staring into me.

“Better than you imagined?” he asked me, softly carding his fingers through my hair. I could only nod.

“Your gift was well met,” one of the ghosts said, and I knew without looking that he had been the first to fuck me. “As agreed, we shall not return for fifty years.”

I think Nightingale thanked them but to be honest by that point I was so exhausted I don't even remember him redressing me or taking me back to the Folly, where he cleaned me up in the bath and then took me to our bed, letting me lie curled up next to him.

It had been three months ago when I'd first dared to talk about my fantasy and I hadn't expected much to come from it, mainly a little role-play when Nightingale and I were ready for it, but this had been much better. I really hadn't been able to do any magic to free myself, which had given me the edge I'd needed, though at the back of my mind I knew Nightingale could have stepped in if I'd given the safe word.

As it was, it fuelled both our fantasies for many years to come. Pun intended.


End file.
